


A pretty good bad idea (me and you)

by gabrielgoodman



Category: Madam Secretary
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-08 02:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11072490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabrielgoodman/pseuds/gabrielgoodman
Summary: "When he was thirteen he used to fantasize about the name written on his skin, about the neat letters, about kissing this Michael Barnow who he imagined to be a sweet and kind guy with a heart of gold, someone who would love him unconditionally and sweep him off his feet; when he was seventeen and in his senior year he didn't have to imagine anything anymore, he knew well enough who and what Michael Barnow was (most of all married) and he didn't want to have anything to do with him; prayed that their paths would never cross ever."Or out of all people the universe paired up, Blake Moran and Mike Barnow might be the oddest couple of them all.





	A pretty good bad idea (me and you)

**Author's Note:**

> After binge watching the first two seasons and the first half of the third season of Madam Secretary I simply couldn't let go of these two. Every fandom needs a Soulmate AU and these two are just _hilarious_ as soulmates; also their bickering won't get out of my head so instead I wrote this. Maybe I'll expand this universe, who knows.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, I do not own any of those characters and no profit is made with this work of fiction. This isn’t beta’d or anything and I’m no native speaker so there might be a few grammar, syntax or spelling mistakes. Feel free to adopt and take care of them.
> 
> Title: Bad Idea - Waitress

It's on a late Thursday morning when Mike Barnow walks up to Blake's desk, stopping only a few inches in front of the table, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring at Blake as if he wants to burn a hole into the younger man's forehead by sheer force of will only. Blake cringes a little but doesn't stop typing on his keyboard, not until Mike clears his throat for the second time after only an embarrassingly few minutes but who's Blake to judge; if he  _does_ he might get fired so he stays perfectly poised and perfectly quiet, raising his gaze slightly to show Mike that he's aware of the presence of the other man. Not that he's never  _not_ aware of Mike's presence.

Blake raises an eyebrow.

"Get up," Mike says and Blake raises his second eyebrow too, both almost disappearing into the hairline of his neatly styled hair. 

"Uh, no?" Blake says, "No, you're not my boss, you can't tell me what to do."

Mike taps his finger now on the desk because he knows that it's annoying Blake ( _Mike knows way too much about him_ , Blake thinks, but it's not like he can change that) and takes a deep breath, "But  _ I _ can tell  _ your _ boss what to do so you better get up or you're fired." 

Blake doesn't think Elizabeth would ever fire him, not unless he causes a serious major international crisis, but he doesn't like to take chances so he gets up, double checking if he's done everything urgent and looking around to make sure no one is openly staring at them. 

"Okay," Blake sighs, "Where do we go?"

Mike grabs his wrists and drags him into Elizabeth's office, currently deserted because she's at the White House, Blake knows that, not letting go of him, not even when they stop next to the couch. 

"Where do you have your mark?" Mike asks, fingers curled around Blake's wrist as if he wants to stop the blood flow there. 

It should catch him off guard but it was a long time coming;Blake only blinks and then frowns. 

"None of your business," he hisses, and feels the flush creeping up his neck and settling on his cheeks but if it is because he's angry or because he's embarrassed, he's not really sure, "I don't parade it around like  _other_ people." 

Mike's grip tightens and Blake grinds his molars together. 

"I don't  _parade_ it around , we can't all have our mark somewhere no one can see," Mike spits, the cuff of his light blue shirt riding up a little and revealing the bottom of the dark letters on his wrist. Without risking a thorough glance Blake knows that it's his own name in his own handwriting that's curling around the pale skin of Mike's arm and God knows he positively  _ despises _ it. 

"Unfortunate," Blake retorts, "how about being a little more  _discreet_. "

He's only noticing now that Gordon isn't following Mike on his heel, that he's not even  _around_ and  Blake presses his lips together; as always Mike's presence is clouding his judgement.

"What, should I wear gloves up to my elbows? Nice try Know-it-all," Mike says and still hasn't let go of Blake's wrist. His skin is hot to the touch, almost blazing, like some strange chemical reaction. 

Blake cocks his head, "Playground insults? Never thought you were that kind of guy."

It's almost like  _Blake_ affects Mike. Huh. Apparently it really is never too late to learn new things. 

Mike steps up to him, impossibly closer now, and his laminated ID bops against Blake's lavender dress shirt, who's trying very hard not to let it irritate him but is failing spectacularly; it could also be because suddenly he's got a pretty good view on Mike's eyes which are  very  blue and frankly that's a little distracting. All of it. Blake inhales through his nose ( _ very very _ bad idea) and almost suffocates on a dose of the other man's expensive aftershave, blinking, exhaling through his mouth while his eyes are firmly locked on a place above Mike's right shoulder;  _Mike_ , who's still holding his wrist and for some reason just won't let go.

"You're pretty," Mike says, "And witty. But you're too insecure and wound up way too tight."

Blake frowns, "Excuse me?" 

"I said, you're too tight. Too stressed. This thing here?" He shrugs, "Is meant to be, so lay off and relax a little."

Blake's frown deepens because he must've had a stroke or something, maybe he momentarily fell asleep and is dreaming because there's no other way to explain Mike's apparent change of heart. Maybe it's the chemicals in their brains that make them go crazy around each other.

Maybe that's really what's going on.

"You drag me in here, almost assault me, and tell me to  _ relax _ ? Are you out of your goddamn mind? I'm sorry if I'm not on board with your life changing decisions, it's not my fault I got stuck with you!" Blake spits, trying to wind his hand out of Mike's grasp; he rarely raises his voice but right now everything is a little too far out of his comfort zone and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Mike, on the other hand, doesn't react the way Blake planned him to, he only raises an eyebrow (almost mocking Blake, really) and wraps his left arm around Blake, pressing them flush together, effectively pushing all the air out of Blake's lungs. Then, as if he's considering what to do, his gaze flips between Blake's eyes and Blake's lips and after an agonizingly long second, he seems to settle on the later.

"This is a terrible idea," is all Blake manages to say, already leaning in because his body is a traitor if he's ever seen one, before Mike silences him with a hard kiss. 

It's a firework, for all of the horrible cliches attached to the word, that goes off when Mike's lips meet his; the air around them seems to charge with white hot electricity and their touches become frantic, the need to be close suddenly overwhelming in a way Blake didn't know before, and never planned on getting to know. There's a hand in his hair, running through the thick strands and the short ones at the nape of his neck and Mike's grip on his wrist loosens finally, only to intertwine their fingers, and Blake makes a noise in the back of his throat that could be a moan but he'll swear on his grave that it wasn't. Mike tastes like coffee, stale office air and mint and Blake probably tastes the same; it's strangely arousing or maybe that's just the soulmate-thing talking. They kiss until they're breathless, until there's no air left in the room anymore and Blake's hand has sneaked under Mike's suit jacket; until Blake has no brain capacity left anymore because apparently he just lost his mind. 

And Mike kisses like he goes about his everyday life: with bold finesse and a hint of arrogance, like he's claiming ownership and won't let go, like he knows exactly what he's doing and what's at stake.

Somehow,  _that_ ' s a comforting thought. 

"Didn't think you had that in you, preppy." Mike laughs but his eyes are warm, adoring almost. 

_ Damn Chemicals _ , Blake thinks.

"Surprise," he tries weakly, his lips sore and tingling and he does definitely not think about the state his hair must be in right now.

Mike's still close and looks up at him, blue eyes so dark, face flushed and they're still holding hands; his other hand caresses Blake's neck and then his cheek and it's strangely intimate but not as awkward as it should be. Blake regrets falling asleep during his class on Soulmates because he's sure that it must have something to do with –  _this_ but he can't exactly tell what it is and that's bothering him more than anything else. At least he has Mike figured out ..... a little.

Maybe he should ask Nadine about it. She surely knows about these things and is discreet enough to not ask any intruding questions. 

He's still making up his mind when Mike starts to mouth along his jaw line, scraping his teeth lightly against sensitive skin, and Blake stumbles backwards, catching himself on the edge of Elizabeth's desk; Mike chuckles,  _ the son of a bitch _ , and presses a kiss to the corner of Blake's mouth, distracting him again so easily, now that he's found Blake's weakness (all things considered his weakness probably aren't the kisses but the man himself) and using it to his advantage. 

It takes all of his willpower to push Mike away. 

"Give me a folder," Blake says, wincing at the sound of his voice, and gestures to the pile of various folders and papers on the coffee table next to the couch, where Elizabeth left them and Blake arranged them neatly after she went to the White House.

Mike cocks his head and gives him a once-over before he reaches out to do what Blake asked him for.

"What?" Blake huffs, adjusting himself then crossing his arms in front of his chest, "I don't need the whole office seeing me like ..... this."

"Nothing to be ashamed of but I admit it's unprofessional. You win this round," Mike says, giving him the folder but not without pressing a lingering kiss onto Blake's lips who will probably never get used to this; kissing  Mike Barnow . When he was thirteen he used to fantasize about the name written on his skin, about the neat letters, about kissing this _Michael Barnow_ who he imagined to be a sweet and kind guy with a heart of gold, someone who would love him unconditionally and sweep him off his feet; when he was seventeen and in his senior year he didn't have to imagine anything anymore, he knew well enough who and what Michael Barnow was (most of all married) and he didn't want to have anything to do with him; prayed that their paths would never cross ever and Blake could settle down with a sweet guy or girl who would accept him the way he is – was – without a Soulmate. 

He never imagined he would stand in the Secretary of State's office one day, with Mike Barnow, willing a hard-on away because he just seriously made out with the same man he vowed to never waste another thought on.

It is all a very strange turn of events.

His mum would probably be delighted to know though; she's always dreamed about meeting that Mike Barnow, ever since Blake's mark appeared on his twelfth birthday and even after she found out who he was and confronted her son about it (as if it was Blake's fault that his soulmate was an idiot), who told her he didn't want to have anything to do with the man (and see how that worked out for him). 

Blake, for his part, can't wait to get home and have a panic attack. 

Mike's already on his way out when he turns around, smiling (not smirking or snickering, actually  _ smiling _ and that's so  _ odd _ ), "I still don't know where your mark is."

Blake looks up, caught off guard once more by how vulnerable Mike looks right now – vulnerable, another word he'd have never associated with Mike before today – and considers it for a moment, the possibility of just denying him this but the thought vanishes irritatingly quickly, because Mike has a right to know. 

So he takes a deep breath and admits, "It's on my back, right under my left shoulder blade."

And Mike just nods as if Blake told him today's agenda.


End file.
